


Holding Hands

by selahexanimo



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selahexanimo/pseuds/selahexanimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their hands fit together like well-ordered gears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr (find it [here](http://thequeenpatches.tumblr.com/post/74916965912/1-their-hands-fit-together-like-well-ordered)). Written for [thequeenpatches](http://thequeenpatches.tumblr.com).

Their hands fit together like well-ordered gears—Lilit’s oil-stained fingertips and Deryn’s blunt-cut nails; Lilit’s old, copper burns, Deryn’s calluses and yellowed scars. 

Deryn stretches her bare arms above her head, angling them against the headboard; Lilit grasps her hands, flexes their twined fingers. “What are you thinking about?” Deryn asks. 

“About gears,” says Lilit, and explains. 

“Stuff that Clanker talk,” Deryn snorts; Lilit retorts, amused, “But you’ve married a Clanker. What else should I say to you?” 

“There’s a whole world of natural things that fit together,” Deryn protests, “good as your gears—better, even!” 

“Perhaps,” says Lilit. “But the coexistence of nature and mechanicks is better than even that, yes?” 

She rocks her hips, and Deryn, lying beneath her, goes still and a little breathless. “I think we are managing to get on very well, despite your vaunted superiority,” Lilit murmurs, and this is how she says that she does not have time for one-upmanship, however playful, in this moment. Let children argue about Clankers and Darwinists, why gears are less seamlessly elegant than a biological web. She is a Clanker, in bed with her wife and lover; her thoughts are soft and hers alone, and in their twined hands her eyes see gears -- beautiful fingers like oiled brass, a meticulous map of scars, burns, and calluses -- clicking together, a resplendent symphony, a portrait in the murky glowworm light.


End file.
